Taiwan KOM Challenge – epic as advertised
Previewing a cycling race without actually having experienced it is always a tricky affair. Materials provided by race organisers and second-hand accounts from previous participants can go a long way in being able to paint what will hopefully be a realistic picture, but nothing beats actually taking part. Alan Grant wrote such a preview of the Taiwan KOM Challenge but now having completed the 2015 edition of the race, he can give a first-hand account of the brutal beauty that the climb is.
November 4, 2015
I like to climb. Even as a kid with my old five-speed Raleigh racer I always preferred the wind-swept hills of central Scotland hills to the flats. And since buying my first proper road bike in 2005 after moving to Singapore and becoming completely besotted with the sport of cycling, I’ve made almost annual trips to France to take on the classic cols of the Alps and Pyrenees.
Asia too has many epic climbs and I’ve enjoyed getting to know many of them over the years, but up until four days ago I’d somehow avoided Mount Hehuan, one of the highest peaks in Taiwan that in just a few short years has attained legendary status, in large part thanks to it hosting the Taiwan KOM Challenge.
The Taiwan KOM had in equal parts enthralled me and scared me since I first heard about it in 2013. Climbing non-stop for 105km was a daunting/thrilling prospect, but when taking into consideration accounts of the last 10km having an average gradient of 17 percent including a 300m-long wall at 27 percent, it just seemed like madness and an inevitable invitation to take part in a walk of shame. I still had the event pencilled into my race program for most of 2014 but after listening to some tales of woe from a two-time past participant I ended up pulling the plug.
I came to regret that decision as the 2014 race day neared and even the reports of the horrendous weather conditions the competitors endured last year somehow made me want to do it even more this year.
So last Friday morning I was on the start line for the 2015 Taiwan KOM Challenge in the coastal village of Qixingtan, just north of the city of Hualien. Ahead for me and the 400 plus other racers lay a test of physical endurance and mental fortitude as we headed skywards towards the finish line at Wuling Pass, which at an elevation of 3,275 metres marks the highest sealed road in Taiwan.
November 4, 2015
I like to climb. Even as a kid with my old five-speed Raleigh racer I always preferred the wind-swept hills of central Scotland hills to the flats. And since buying my first proper road bike in 2005 after moving to Singapore and becoming completely besotted with the sport of cycling, I’ve made almost annual trips to France to take on the classic cols of the Alps and Pyrenees.
Asia too has many epic climbs and I’ve enjoyed getting to know many of them over the years, but up until four days ago I’d somehow avoided Mount Hehuan, one of the highest peaks in Taiwan that in just a few short years has attained legendary status, in large part thanks to it hosting the Taiwan KOM Challenge.
The Taiwan KOM had in equal parts enthralled me and scared me since I first heard about it in 2013. Climbing non-stop for 105km was a daunting/thrilling prospect, but when taking into consideration accounts of the last 10km having an average gradient of 17 percent including a 300m-long wall at 27 percent, it just seemed like madness and an inevitable invitation to take part in a walk of shame. I still had the event pencilled into my race program for most of 2014 but after listening to some tales of woe from a two-time past participant I ended up pulling the plug.
I came to regret that decision as the 2014 race day neared and even the reports of the horrendous weather conditions the competitors endured last year somehow made me want to do it even more this year.
So last Friday morning I was on the start line for the 2015 Taiwan KOM Challenge in the coastal village of Qixingtan, just north of the city of Hualien. Ahead for me and the 400 plus other racers lay a test of physical endurance and mental fortitude as we headed skywards towards the finish line at Wuling Pass, which at an elevation of 3,275 metres marks the highest sealed road in Taiwan.
We’d gotten lucky with the weather, the conditions were almost perfect, the temperature a balmy 20 degrees Celsius even at 6:30am and the threat of rain we were told was non-existent. To the left, clear skies revealed the full majesty of the heavily wooded mountain range we were about to delve deep into. Just the day before the peaks had been ominously shrouded in low-lying clouds.
Still, all the competitors were ordered to pack a bag filled with warm and weather-proof clothes to be handed over and deposited at the top for collection immediately post-race. The weather in the mountains can change quickly and we were assured it would be cold at Wuling, rain or shine.
For the race, I wore a base layer under my jersey, arm warmers and full-fingered gloves, with a gilet stuffed into one of my back pockets just in case the weathermen got it wrong. As for mechanical gearing, I was taking no chances, fitting my Specialized S-Works Tarmac with a 50-34 compact crank coupled with a 32-11 cassette on back. The 34-32 combo my set-up allowed is the smallest gear possible on a conventionally equipped road bike and I would thoroughly recommend that anybody contemplating the 2016 Taiwan KOM takes the same approach.
Not that such a small gear is required for the vast majority of the race, but when the super-steep gradients hit during the last 10km being able to click into that 32-tooth cog is a godsend.
The first 18km of the race are neutralised and basically pancake flat as the road heads north along the coast toward the Taroko Gorge. Even when the flag drops the road doesn’t start to go up for a few more clicks, which means the Taiwan KOM Challenge isn’t quite the 105km climb that I was expecting, but hey, 85km of ascending is long enough in anybody’s book.
The timed section of the KOM begins at the entrance to the gorge and the scenery is immediately breathtaking. While the entire route is visually stimulating, the first 20km of the climb holds probably the most striking geographical feature. Here in the lower sections of the giant but narrow chasm where the raging river finally nears the gravitational pull of the sea that powers its flow, lie a scattered assortment of building-sized boulders. The presence of such impossibly large chunks of rock is testament to the power of the water that has cascaded down from the mountains for millennia. If only there had been time to properly take in these starkly beautiful surroundings. But no, we were here to race and race we did, as soon as the flag dropped.
The Taiwan KOM Challenge is fairly unique in that professional and amateur riders start together. The pros are motivated by the not-too-shabby prize fund of US$75,000, which includes a cheque of NT$1,000,000 (about US$31,000) for the winner. For many of the age groupers, the chance to try and mix it up with these men and women from the paid ranks of the sport is a powerful, but potentially dangerous lure.
Still, all the competitors were ordered to pack a bag filled with warm and weather-proof clothes to be handed over and deposited at the top for collection immediately post-race. The weather in the mountains can change quickly and we were assured it would be cold at Wuling, rain or shine.
For the race, I wore a base layer under my jersey, arm warmers and full-fingered gloves, with a gilet stuffed into one of my back pockets just in case the weathermen got it wrong. As for mechanical gearing, I was taking no chances, fitting my Specialized S-Works Tarmac with a 50-34 compact crank coupled with a 32-11 cassette on back. The 34-32 combo my set-up allowed is the smallest gear possible on a conventionally equipped road bike and I would thoroughly recommend that anybody contemplating the 2016 Taiwan KOM takes the same approach.
Not that such a small gear is required for the vast majority of the race, but when the super-steep gradients hit during the last 10km being able to click into that 32-tooth cog is a godsend.
The first 18km of the race are neutralised and basically pancake flat as the road heads north along the coast toward the Taroko Gorge. Even when the flag drops the road doesn’t start to go up for a few more clicks, which means the Taiwan KOM Challenge isn’t quite the 105km climb that I was expecting, but hey, 85km of ascending is long enough in anybody’s book.
The timed section of the KOM begins at the entrance to the gorge and the scenery is immediately breathtaking. While the entire route is visually stimulating, the first 20km of the climb holds probably the most striking geographical feature. Here in the lower sections of the giant but narrow chasm where the raging river finally nears the gravitational pull of the sea that powers its flow, lie a scattered assortment of building-sized boulders. The presence of such impossibly large chunks of rock is testament to the power of the water that has cascaded down from the mountains for millennia. If only there had been time to properly take in these starkly beautiful surroundings. But no, we were here to race and race we did, as soon as the flag dropped.
The Taiwan KOM Challenge is fairly unique in that professional and amateur riders start together. The pros are motivated by the not-too-shabby prize fund of US$75,000, which includes a cheque of NT$1,000,000 (about US$31,000) for the winner. For many of the age groupers, the chance to try and mix it up with these men and women from the paid ranks of the sport is a powerful, but potentially dangerous lure.
The opening kilometres of the Wuling climb, like most of the next 70km, aren’t particularly steep, averaging only 3 percent, but when attacked full gas even gentle inclines can hurt. My plan had been to try and sit with the lead bunch for as long as possible during this opening act before dropping off to climb at my own pace when the pace started to get too hard.
It started to hurt almost immediately, but with adrenalin pumping through my veins and the thrill of being part of huge seething mass of riders I stayed with it, ignoring my red-lining heart rate and too-high power numbers. I knew after 10km of this that I should sit up, even saying so to a nearby friend, but ego and the chance to get a “free ride” for as long as possible saw me clinging on desperately to the back of the group, the yo-yo effect that this entailed only adding to my pain. But about 20km into the climb the elastic finally snapped and I was spat out unceremoniously.
Physically, I was spent and struggled just to keep the pedals turning. But worse, I was completely deflated mentally. I’d started the race with the notion of earning a podium spot in the 40s division (they recognise the first six riders in each category at the KOM), but now with still 65km to go I began to fear I’d miss the six-and-half-hour cut-off time. As a steady stream of riders passed me all I could do was stuff as many calories into me as possible in the hope that the bonk could be overcome.
In my preview piece of the Taiwan KOM Challenge I’d included a quote from one of last year’s participants advising riders not to go with the pros, that anybody doing so would ultimately pay for such rash behaviour. If only I’d heeded that advice.
It took about 10km, but I did eventually recover and instead of being constantly passed, I started to catch a few riders, which helped re-fire my mental engines. This and the fact that I was now riding at a steady pace that I could maintain meant I could finally appreciate the full glory of my surroundings.
The race route hugs the sides of the gorge on ledge-like roads as it rises, or through tunnels where the obstacles faced by the road-building engineers meant that blasting holes through the rock was the only viable upwards option. Countless small bridges, memorable for their red-painted wrought iron structures, allow the road to switch from one side of the gorge to the other where need necessitates it, or over some of the many smaller fissures cutting onto the main ravine. The bridges offer spectacularly scary views down into the abyss but their horizontal surfaces also provide much-appreciated pauses from climbing.
It started to hurt almost immediately, but with adrenalin pumping through my veins and the thrill of being part of huge seething mass of riders I stayed with it, ignoring my red-lining heart rate and too-high power numbers. I knew after 10km of this that I should sit up, even saying so to a nearby friend, but ego and the chance to get a “free ride” for as long as possible saw me clinging on desperately to the back of the group, the yo-yo effect that this entailed only adding to my pain. But about 20km into the climb the elastic finally snapped and I was spat out unceremoniously.
Physically, I was spent and struggled just to keep the pedals turning. But worse, I was completely deflated mentally. I’d started the race with the notion of earning a podium spot in the 40s division (they recognise the first six riders in each category at the KOM), but now with still 65km to go I began to fear I’d miss the six-and-half-hour cut-off time. As a steady stream of riders passed me all I could do was stuff as many calories into me as possible in the hope that the bonk could be overcome.
In my preview piece of the Taiwan KOM Challenge I’d included a quote from one of last year’s participants advising riders not to go with the pros, that anybody doing so would ultimately pay for such rash behaviour. If only I’d heeded that advice.
It took about 10km, but I did eventually recover and instead of being constantly passed, I started to catch a few riders, which helped re-fire my mental engines. This and the fact that I was now riding at a steady pace that I could maintain meant I could finally appreciate the full glory of my surroundings.
The race route hugs the sides of the gorge on ledge-like roads as it rises, or through tunnels where the obstacles faced by the road-building engineers meant that blasting holes through the rock was the only viable upwards option. Countless small bridges, memorable for their red-painted wrought iron structures, allow the road to switch from one side of the gorge to the other where need necessitates it, or over some of the many smaller fissures cutting onto the main ravine. The bridges offer spectacularly scary views down into the abyss but their horizontal surfaces also provide much-appreciated pauses from climbing.
The journey towards the notorious last 10km of the Wuling climb isn’t actually one continuous incline, with frequent false flats and occasional downhill sections also providing welcome breaks in cadence. Throw in the odd quite steep pitch and the ascent is anything but a monotonous grind.
Four aid stations also provide a momentary lift. They come quickly, though, with little or no warning until you hit them. The provisions are simple. Water, strange pouches of some sort of sweet electrolyte gel and endless bananas, carefully half unwrapped by the volunteers. Many riders used the aid stations as opportunity to take a breather and a stretch. But not me, by the second aid station I felt great and so I pressed onwards, upwards.
Compared to riding the big mountains in Europe, the elevation gain kind of sneaks up on you while climbing Wuling, in part because there are none of those convenient signposts every kilometer, but also because the mountain is still quite heavily wooded even at an altitude of 2,000m. That significant marker was signposted and came with about 30km to go to the summit, of which there was still no sign after 75km of riding.
The steady climbing continues for another 15km until having accumulated 2,453m of the 3,275m target, a sizeable chunk of that hard-earned elevation gain is lost in one fell swoop in the shape of a 3km descent. But it’s worth it. After so many hours of climbing being able to just let go and enjoy a fast swoop downwards is richly rewarding. The descent bottoms out at the 89km mark at an altitude of 2,243m … leaving over 1,000m of vertical gain for the last 16km!
The short descent brings a significant change in scenery. The thick woods that have lined the route for hours providing shelter from the wind thin out revealing a wide-open vista of endless peaks folding into each other in one huge mountainous mass.
It provides a glorious backdrop for the final push to Wuling Pass. The gradients are still gentle when the climbing recommences but the threat of the 27 percent wall looms large. Only it never comes.
Four aid stations also provide a momentary lift. They come quickly, though, with little or no warning until you hit them. The provisions are simple. Water, strange pouches of some sort of sweet electrolyte gel and endless bananas, carefully half unwrapped by the volunteers. Many riders used the aid stations as opportunity to take a breather and a stretch. But not me, by the second aid station I felt great and so I pressed onwards, upwards.
Compared to riding the big mountains in Europe, the elevation gain kind of sneaks up on you while climbing Wuling, in part because there are none of those convenient signposts every kilometer, but also because the mountain is still quite heavily wooded even at an altitude of 2,000m. That significant marker was signposted and came with about 30km to go to the summit, of which there was still no sign after 75km of riding.
The steady climbing continues for another 15km until having accumulated 2,453m of the 3,275m target, a sizeable chunk of that hard-earned elevation gain is lost in one fell swoop in the shape of a 3km descent. But it’s worth it. After so many hours of climbing being able to just let go and enjoy a fast swoop downwards is richly rewarding. The descent bottoms out at the 89km mark at an altitude of 2,243m … leaving over 1,000m of vertical gain for the last 16km!
The short descent brings a significant change in scenery. The thick woods that have lined the route for hours providing shelter from the wind thin out revealing a wide-open vista of endless peaks folding into each other in one huge mountainous mass.
It provides a glorious backdrop for the final push to Wuling Pass. The gradients are still gentle when the climbing recommences but the threat of the 27 percent wall looms large. Only it never comes.
Where a 300m-long stretch at that gradient was expected with 8km to go, was instead a short series of steep switchbacks, the inside corners of which no doubt harboured that 27 percent number, but thankfully there was no wall.
Wall or no wall, the remainder of the finale was as tough as expected. I can’t imagine how much more difficult it would have been climbing the next 5km without the 32-tooth cog I had at my disposal. Even with that dinner plate to rely on, it was still a grind, the ever-thinning air making the 9 percent inclines seem much steeper.
But then mercifully, with 3km to go, the mountain delivers some respite in the shape of 1,500m of basically flat ground, providing for some sort of recovery before the final, punishing push to the summit. The severity of that last 1.5km is perhaps demonstrated by the fact that it took me nearly 10 minutes to complete.
What a feeling it was to have completed the Taiwan KOM Challenge. Sure, I was exhausted and could hardly breath when I stopped pedaling and I’d suffered some dark moments, but the experience was one of the greatest I’ve ever had on a bike.
I even put in a decent performance despite blowing up early in the race, catching not only most of the people who’d passed me, but many who’d managed to stick with the lead group longer than me. My time of 4:37:36 saw me pipped on the line for 10th spot in my age group; quite where the man who summoned the energy from to sprint the last 50m beats me.
Incidentally, the pros who I’d vainly tried to hang with, set the mountain on fire and put on an epic contest. The male winner, Damien Monier of France, claimed the NT$1,000,000 cheque with a time of 3:34:19. Japan’s Eri Yonamine took the women’s crown, covering the 87km in an equally impressive 4:03:29.
The Taiwan KOM Challenge truly deserves the epic moniker that gets handed about too easily these days. The setting is simply stunning and I’d highly recommend it.
While the task is certainly demanding, I might venture to say it’s not quite as tough as I expected, despite my travails. I’ll definitely be back as I feel as if I have some unfinished business with Mt Hehuan.
But the fact that only 309 people managed to finish the race within the six-and-a-half-hour time limit in what amounted to perfect conditions, shows that the Taiwan KOM Challenge is no gran fondo. Preparation is key, with a solid base of endurance, sensible pacing on the day and having the right equipment essential to getting the most out of the experience.
And a little prayer to the weather gods wouldn’t do any harm either. The 2015 Taiwan KOM Challenge was raced under perfect conditions, but the heavens opened up the next day.
Photos courtesy of Taiwan Cyclist Federation.
This article first appeared in CycleAsia.com.
Wall or no wall, the remainder of the finale was as tough as expected. I can’t imagine how much more difficult it would have been climbing the next 5km without the 32-tooth cog I had at my disposal. Even with that dinner plate to rely on, it was still a grind, the ever-thinning air making the 9 percent inclines seem much steeper.
But then mercifully, with 3km to go, the mountain delivers some respite in the shape of 1,500m of basically flat ground, providing for some sort of recovery before the final, punishing push to the summit. The severity of that last 1.5km is perhaps demonstrated by the fact that it took me nearly 10 minutes to complete.
What a feeling it was to have completed the Taiwan KOM Challenge. Sure, I was exhausted and could hardly breath when I stopped pedaling and I’d suffered some dark moments, but the experience was one of the greatest I’ve ever had on a bike.
I even put in a decent performance despite blowing up early in the race, catching not only most of the people who’d passed me, but many who’d managed to stick with the lead group longer than me. My time of 4:37:36 saw me pipped on the line for 10th spot in my age group; quite where the man who summoned the energy from to sprint the last 50m beats me.
Incidentally, the pros who I’d vainly tried to hang with, set the mountain on fire and put on an epic contest. The male winner, Damien Monier of France, claimed the NT$1,000,000 cheque with a time of 3:34:19. Japan’s Eri Yonamine took the women’s crown, covering the 87km in an equally impressive 4:03:29.
The Taiwan KOM Challenge truly deserves the epic moniker that gets handed about too easily these days. The setting is simply stunning and I’d highly recommend it.
While the task is certainly demanding, I might venture to say it’s not quite as tough as I expected, despite my travails. I’ll definitely be back as I feel as if I have some unfinished business with Mt Hehuan.
But the fact that only 309 people managed to finish the race within the six-and-a-half-hour time limit in what amounted to perfect conditions, shows that the Taiwan KOM Challenge is no gran fondo. Preparation is key, with a solid base of endurance, sensible pacing on the day and having the right equipment essential to getting the most out of the experience.
And a little prayer to the weather gods wouldn’t do any harm either. The 2015 Taiwan KOM Challenge was raced under perfect conditions, but the heavens opened up the next day.
Photos courtesy of Taiwan Cyclist Federation.
This article first appeared in CycleAsia.com.